


tell me about despair, yours, and i will tell you mine

by ivegotyou



Category: Trench - Twenty One Pilots (Album), Twenty One Pilots
Genre: DEMA (Twenty One Pilots), Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-06-29 23:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19840420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivegotyou/pseuds/ivegotyou
Summary: he has to keep going. he rolls onto his hands and knees. he has to keep going. he pushes himself up to his feet. he has to keep going. he stumbles forwards on unsteady legs. he has to keep going.he has to keep going.he has to do this alone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hewwo
> 
> title from the poem wild geese by mary oliver

he knows this part of the game, the part where They don’t touch him for a while. even though he knows and expects this part, he still jumps when someone touches him again.

this touch is different, though. this touch is freeing him from his bonds and settling him on the ground. this touch is taking off his mask.

he blinks and flexes his jaw a little. he locks eyes with a bandito.

her hair is hidden in a yellow beanie, and a yellow bandanna stretches across her nose and covers that and her mouth. her jacket is camouflage, with two strips of tape wrapped around her forearms and another strip going from her left shoulder to her right hip. she has a bag slung over her right shoulder. it looks heavy.

“my name’s debby.” she whispers. “do you have clothes?”

he nods numbly, and half-stumbles over to his bed. there’s a pile of clothes there, and he pulls out his shirt and pants and gets them on. they’re the regular rough gray of Dema.

“can we move quickly?” debby peeks out the door. “i don’t know how much time we have.”

he shuffles back over to her and nods again.

“do you have a name?”

he shakes his head.

“numbers?”

he nods.

she looks up at him expectantly, and it makes him realize that he doesn’t really want to talk. she seems to understand pretty quickly, though, and just starts to leave.

following her is easy. she goes quickly and quietly down the spiral stairs, and he is very good at moving quickly and quietly. the exit door is open, and debby leads him into the quiet night.

the two of them slip through the center towers and dart across the space between them and the buildings. his body is weak and he doesn’t know how he’s still moving, but if he’s good at one thing it’s pushing past his limits.

they move through the streets and turn into an alleyway, and there’s two other banditos there, holding torches beside an open door. neither of them say anything, and he isn’t good enough at reading facial expressions to figure out what they’re feeling on the inside.

one of them, the one with an open camouflage jacket, yellow shirt, yellow beanie, green bandanna, and a strip of yellow tape on her upper left arm, ducks into the tunnel. debby follows her, and he follows debby, and he’s followed by the other bandito in a green hoodie and black mask with one strip of yellow tape on his right shoulder.

he’s heard about fire, but he’s never really seen it before, and thus is fascinated by the torchlight dancing along the walls of the tunnel. the flames dance from the ends of the torches, blue and white and yellow and orange.

they walk for an amount of time that he can’t quite track before the bandito behind him speaks.

“how was it?”

“i got everything fine.” debby says.

“and a little bit extra.”

“if you saw him, you would’ve rescued him too.”

“nobody at camp is ready for newcomers.” there’s a scary tenseness in his voice.

“and yet we still take in people when they wander to us, having escaped Dema on their own.” debby also sounds tense, but it’s more in response to the tone of the other bandito.

“you jeopardized the entire mission. what if our diversion didn’t work and you got caught?”

“then i would’ve gotten caught regardless of whether i saved him or not.”

“where the hell did you find him, anyways?”

“in the tower.”

the other bandito stops dead. “in the _tower_?”

“yes.” debby stops and turns to him. she sounds defensive. “is that a problem?”

“we have no idea who he is. he could be a Chosen, he could be a spy, he could be literally anybody! we didn’t coordinate with him beforehand, the Bishops could have planted him where you found him to take back-”

“mark.” that’s a new voice, the voice of the one leading them. “stop.”

her simple words shut him up.

“his eyes aren’t red.” she continues. “and it’s rude to talk like he isn’t here.”

emotions tend to permeate the air, and he can practically feel mark’s anger pressing up against his skin. it’s an understandable anger, though. he doesn’t even trust himself. he hasn’t trusted himself in a while.

they continue walking in silence. 

gentle, warm light begins to seep into the dirt surrounding them. he squints as the four of them step out of the tunnel and into a world of blue and green and brown. even though it’s fairly monotone in its colors, it’s still more saturated than anything in Dema.

there’s a bright disk in the sky. it hurts to look at.

he stares in wonder at the world around him. he’s outside of Dema, he’s in a world he’d never even been able to imagine existed.

the bandito who had been leading them pulls down her bandanna and smiles. “i’m jenna.”

her eyes are so blue. her eyes are like the blue that stretches above them.

he’s in awe.

“are you able to talk? it’s okay if you aren’t.” she doesn’t move to touch him, and that’s good. he doesn’t want to be touched. everything around him is so overwhelming.

he shakes his head. talking is too difficult. he doesn’t even know if he’s capable of it, if he even remembers how.

“okay. we’re about two hours away from the camp right now. you can choose your name then, unless you have one already.” she’s smiling, gentleness written in the corners of her mouth. “do you have one?”

he shakes his head again. he’s not even entirely sure what she means by him choosing a name. aren’t names only for Bishops and Chosen? were these banditos once Chosen?

no, they couldn’t be. their eyes are natural colors, and there’s no bright red on any parts of their bodies.

he’s very good at not letting emotions express themselves on his face, so she doesn’t react at all to his confusion.

“let’s go.” she begins to head off into the landscape. mark and debby follow.

he does have other choices, he has so many courses of action he could take, but he chooses to follow them. 

debby flashes him a smile. he’d almost forgotten what those look like.

he follows at the end of their little almost-line. it’s more of a diamond, debby and mark a few steps to either side of the center that he and jenna create.

jenna is leading, focused on the winding path they take through the dirt and rocks and grasses and scraggly trees. mark and debby scan the landscape, mark on the right and debby on the left.

he doesn’t know what to do except stay even with jenna. his looking around isn’t making sure that nothing comes at them. he’s trying to take in what’s around him without completely overwhelming all of his senses.

everything is so colorful and bright. there’s wind pushing against his skin. there’s a smell that he doesn’t know the name of, and it’s so unlike the metal and staleness of Dema he almost wants to pinch his nose shut so he doesn’t have to process it.

he tries that for a couple seconds, and ~~black hands black marks~~

he lets go fast and puts it out of his mind.

none of the banditos notice. thank-

no. he can’t just thank his Bishop for something like this. he’s free of Dema and of Bishops and of black hands that leave black marks on bodies.

his legs hurt so bad.

on the cliffs that loom above them, tents and firelight begin to take shape. he’s lost track of time as they’ve been walking. they’re almost there.

the ground starts to incline upwards.

going upwards hurts. his body isn’t used to as much movement and labor as the typical Citizen of Dema. he can feel his body beginning to break.

he slips on some loose rocks and falls. he catches himself with his arms and his palms hurt. he collapses onto his side and looks at his hands and there’s small rocks in his skin now. he brushes them away and tries to get back up, but he hurts. he can’t move enough to get back on his feet.

the sound of the other three continuing to move taunts him. he’s almost there, he should be able to climb and reach the top, reach the rest of the banditos, reach freedom.

he has to keep going. he rolls onto his hands and knees. he has to keep going. he pushes himself up to his feet. he has to keep going. he stumbles forwards on unsteady legs. he has to keep going. 

mark and debby and jenna are watching him now. they’re silent, but their bandannas and masks and beanies are off now. jenna’s hair is down and it moves around her face with the wind, covering part of her face. her eyes urge him to move. debby’s hair is red and pulled up into a messy bun, and she’s watching him with an intensity he’s never known.

he has to keep going.

he has to do this alone.

it takes so much effort. mark and debby keep pace beside him, several feet away, giving him almost too much space. jenna leads him forwards. all of them silently urge him to keep going, to climb, to continue.

he continues.

the camp gets closer and closer. he can start making out figures, the shapes of banditos gathered at the edge of their home to watch him approach.

he falls again, and this time he cuts open his right hand on a sharp stone. blood slowly wells up, but it doesn’t spill. he gets up more slowly than the last time, takes a couple steps, and then collapses.

his breath rattles in his lungs. he has to go on, but he can’t go on.

he doesn’t know how long he lies there on the rough ground, eyes closed, just breathing. he can hear the soft murmur of voices above him.

red blood has begun to drag itself out of the cut and ooze down his hand.

it takes many slow movements, but he gets onto his knees. he’s mostly bent over, but he’s upright, and he’s breathing.

debby and mark are still on either side of him, and jenna is still up ahead.

he doesn’t look at the camp, he doesn’t look at the waiting banditos, he just begins to crawl forwards. for anyone else, it would be a loss of dignity, but his has been ripped away from him in tiny pieces over the years he’s spent in Dema. he has no skin of pride to be cut. 

he crawls, and he moves, and eventually he hears jenna’s whispered words of “you’re here. you’re okay. you made it.”

strong and gentle arms lift him up. he closes his eyes and just lets himself be carried and set down into somewhere soft and quiet. every particle in his body is tired, and he lets himself be dragged down into sleep.

his unconsciousness is dark and quiet.


	2. Chapter 2

when he wakes up, debby is there, sitting beside him. he’s inside one of the tents. he’s not on a cot, instead he’s been laid on a bed of softness that covers the whole floor. it’s a mix of pillows and blankets and heaps of cloth. he doesn’t even feel the ground. 

it’s so nice. 

“good morning.” debby says. she’s holding an open book in her lap. the pages and cover look rough, nothing like the sleek books the Bishops own.

he sits up slowly. his body aches, low and deep and constant. he’d be able to push it out of his headspace if not for the fact that he feels it all over. 

“do you want to pick a name now?” she gestures to the book. 

he nods. he’s still not sure what she means by him having a name. 

she hands him the book. 

it’s open to a bunch of lines and curves and shapes, arranged in bunches and in rows across the paper. he turns the page and is greeted by the same thing, just different arrangements. he looks up at debby and tries to communicate how lost he feels through his expression. 

she tilts her head. “are you not used to… ohh.” she gets out a single laugh to herself. “right. you didn’t communicate with us beforehand. you don’t know about names.”

while this is true, it’s not the thing he was currently concerned about. he still listens intently to her explanation. 

“back in Dema, we only got numbers because we weren’t people. out here, we are people, so we get names. it’s not just Bishops and Chosen that get to have a sense of self.” she sounds like she knows everything, but doesn’t quite know that herself. he hangs onto her every word. “we’re allowed to be people. and people have names.”

it makes a lot of sense. 

“you don’t have to talk. you can just point to the one you want.”

he looks back down at the shapes and tries to will them into names. they stay incoherent. 

debby’s voice is soft. “is it overwhelming?”

he shakes his head. he doesn’t know how to communicate to her that he can’t make sense of the book he’s been given.

she’s quiet for a moment, and he looks up to see her face slightly pinched in thought. her next words are spoken slowly. “can you read?”

he looks down at the pages, then back up at her and shakes his head.

“okay.” her voice is almost a whisper. the second time she says it is louder. “okay.” she slowly takes the book from him, and he lets her. “i’m gonna read these out for you. stop me when you hear one you like, and i’ll repeat it for you.”

he can’t quite keep the anxiety about this off his face. wouldn’t it hurt her voice? wouldn’t she get tired of reading at some point? what if that happened before he’s heard a name that might suit him?

“dude, don’t worry about it.” she starts to reach out a comforting hand, but stops when he ever so slightly flinches. “i don’t mind. it’s not the most difficult way we’ve helped people get their names.”

he tilts his head and looks up at her. he wants to hear a story, but she doesn’t see him, eyes down on the book and hands flipping to the first page.

“you ready?”

he nods. she sees that, at least.

her voice is nice to listen to. he stops her a few times by resting a hand on her knee, but each time when she repeats the name it doesn’t quite fit right. debby keeps turning the pages, and he’s truly considered and rejected ten names out of hundreds. some aren’t what he recognizes as names, some are just words that he’s heard in speech before, and it gives him the impression that this is a collection of every name every bandito has ever used or even considered.

she’s on one of the last pages when she says a name that has him setting his hand on her knee with almost too much force.

“josh.” she repeats.

it doesn’t slip across his skin like the others, and instead sinks in. josh. he rolls it around inside of his brain. it feels right.

he nods. she smiles.

“welcome to trench, josh.”

josh doesn’t know why, exactly, but there are tears in his eyes. he’s been named, he’s been given personhood, and it’s almost too much for him to handle.

“are you okay with a hug?” debby asks. her arms are already open. he leans into her, and she holds him close and tight. it’s nice to have contact that’s loving. she’s warm, and she feels safe, and it’s so unlike what he’d experienced in all his years in Dema that he almost can’t process it.

she lets go of him, and he misses her almost immediately. “do you want to go see some people and get some new clothes, now that you know your name?”

he nods. knowing the people around the camp might help him be less nervous. he’s not used to interacting with people. maybe debby could help him, or at least be someone he knows slightly better than everyone else. 

“come on.” she stands up and slips out of the tent. josh stands and follows her. his body is still shaky, but he manages to keep himself upright and moving.

the tent they were in is among a scattered group of three. she leads him over to a bonfire that’s by another group of tents. even though it’s bright and warm, the flames still leap upwards towards the sky. there’s a few banditos sitting around it. he recognizes mark, but none of the others carry familiar faces.

josh becomes very suddenly aware that he’s still in the loose, gray clothes that signify a Citizen. there’s nothing that makes him a bandito, no yellow tape, no camouflage.

“hey.” one of them stands up and takes a step towards debby. he’s big and bearded, dressed completely in black with a strip of yellow tape going straight down his shirt from his right shoulder. “can you take a look at those books in a little bit?”

“yeah, of course. is there any specific problems they’re having?” part of debby’s attention lingers on josh. he can tell.

“just thought you’d be interested.” the bandito’s eyes flicker to josh. “hey. i’m brad. mark talked about you.”

“he did, did he?” debby raises an eyebrow. “this is josh.”

“he doesn’t talk?”

“not yet. give him time.”

brad puts his hands up. “not gonna rush it, don’t worry.” there’s tape around the middle of each of his middle fingers. he drops his arms, and the sound of his hands hitting against his pants makes josh flinch. he suppresses it enough that neither of them see.

“he needs new clothes!” someone calls from over by the fire.

josh gets looked up and down by both debby and brad. he feels exposed.

“do you like yellow?” brad asks.

if josh made sound, he would burst out laughing, but instead he smiles wide and covers his mouth, leaving only his crinkled eyes showing. his shoulders shake softly, and his entire body starts to hurt again from containing it. he hasn’t laughed or smiled in who knows how long.

“oh man, you must’ve been devoid of jokes if that’s that funny.” brad says, accompanied by a smile and a few soft huffs of laughter.

josh takes a deep breath and straightens his face instantly.

the expression brad makes is one he can’t quite read.

“c’mon, josh.” debby hovers her hand over his shoulder. he nods once, and she touches him gently. “we can get you bandito clothes, and then you can figure out your tape when you’re ready.”

he’s not sure if he’ll ever be ready.

she still leads him gently through the bandito camp to a tent decorated with strips of yellow. there’s eyes on him the whole way there, and he wishes he could hide inside of himself and never be seen. being seen makes his throat close up and his hands shake.

the two of them step into the tent.

scattered around are green and camouflage and black and yellow clothes, sorted by shirts and pants and jackets and beanies and bandannas and shoes. he’s almost overwhelmed by the fact that he has options. he’s so used to having clothes given to him, in the same gray and similar styles, that the variety is almost too much.

there’s so many questions trapped in his throat.

first, he figures, should be a shirt or something. shifting through the piles of clothes, he finds an overlarge green hoodie. he instinctually pulls it over his head, and the cloth hangs to his knees and gathers around his wrists. there’s a slight bit of Dema gray fabric visible by his neck.

he grabs a camouflage pair of pants next, aware that debby is watching him. he looks over at her and tilts his head, holding up the pants.

she averts her eyes. okay.

the action of stripping is within his nature. it doesn’t take long for him to take off the Dema gray and pull on the bandito clothing. it feels comfortable. it feels right.

there’s a sturdy pair of black boots that he pulls on that don’t really fit, they’re too big and he can feel the space between his toes and the end, but he laces them up tight and doesn’t worry about it.

josh grabs a black beanie and yellow bandanna, but doesn’t put them on quite yet, just folds them up and carefully places them into a pocket in his pants. he turns to debby and tries to say ‘i’m ready’ without using his words.

she’s looking at him again, and he doesn’t quite understand what her expression means. “you look nice.”

he nods. 

“do you want to stay in a tent with me and jenna and mark? i can take you there..” her eyes contain a kindness that he can’t quite accept. “i have to go do stuff with the books i got from that tower, so i won’t be able to stay with you right then. you don’t have to, though, there are plenty of other tents and people who would be glad to stay with you and stuff…” there’s anxiety in the way she trails off her words.

josh steps up to her and reaches out and takes one of her hands with both of his own. he makes eye contact and nods, trying to reassure her and show her that he wants to stay.

she smiles. “you’re a lot better at talking without words than i was.”

he tilts his head and blinks once.

“i was, um.” she looks down at their hands, at josh’s soft palms pressing gently into her rough skin. “i didn’t talk for the first few months i was here. most people are verbal within a couple days, if not right away. i’m not even super great at talking. um.” she scuffs her feet against the ground. “basically, what i’m trying to say is, take your time. some people might give you shit for it, but fuck them.”

josh absorbs her words intently and nods in assurance. he wants to make her feel less nervous, wants to show he’s listening.

“not everyone here is great, but most are okay at least. jenna’s good. brad’s good, chris and nick are good, you’ll see them when it’s time to give you duties. they’re kind of the leaders of this whole thing.” debby pulls her hand away from him gently, not in a rude way, but in an i’m-done-with-contact way. “mark’s an asshole but he’s good too. he’s just tense about possible infiltrators. he doesn’t mean anything against you personally.”

again, josh tilts his head and blinks, which seems to work when he wants more information on something she’s said. 

again, she picks up on his silent talking. “long story, and definitely not one for your first day.” she turns towards the tent flap. “let me show you my tent, and then you can decide if you want to stay.”

there are so many questions circulating in his brain, questions that require detail and words to express. facial expressions and body language can only ask so much.

as he follows debby through the bandito camp, he tries to will words out of his throat, onto his tongue, and into the air. nothing happens. there’s a fear of making noise that’s deep, deep within his soul. every time his boots scrape against the ground he has to still a flinch.

the tent debby takes him to looks about the same as the others around it. there’s a small pattern of tape on the edge of the left flap, and looking at other tents he can see that they all have their own distinct pattern. he doesn’t have to ask to know what that means. he’s not dumb.

she holds open the flap for him, and he slips inside quietly. there’s no people there. the floor is covered in blankets and pillows and other soft things, just like where he woke up, but the walls of the tent have drawings and photographs hanging from strings that stretch from pole to pole. along the edges of the tent are small books, yellow tape, and what looks like handcrafted projects in progress. there’s a few stuffed animals sitting on top of the soft floor.

it’s nice. it looks and feels like a home.

“do you want to stay?” debby sounds nervous, like he’d say no.

he never says no, but this isn’t a time where he feels coerced into doing so. he nods happily, and tries to smile. he doesn’t know how it comes across, but she smiles back at him, warm and safe and real.

“okay, okay, cool.” she’s beaming now, and the way her eyes crinkle up makes his heart flutter. “do you want to stay here for a bit, maybe settle? mark stays on that side, and me and jenna share that side.” she gestures as she speaks. “there’s space in the center for you, if that’s okay.”

he nods. he doesn’t mind.

“um, so, you should probably take your shoes off before really settling in, and other than that, you can…” she stares at him for a long moment. “you can’t write, can you?”

he shakes his head.

“okay. i’ll talk to someone about that.” she ducks out of the tent and leaves him alone.

carefully, he sits down and unlaces his boots and sets them by the entrance. he sits in the center of the tent and crosses his legs, back to the entrance, and takes in the space.

slowly, he leans back and lets himself be absorbed by comfort. it’s a very strange feeling, but it’s one that’s easy to accept.

**Author's Note:**

> most likely infrequent updates, apologies
> 
> tumblr: [nonbinaryclancy](http://nonbinaryclancy.tumblr.com)


End file.
